


Honeysuckle and Mistletoe

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: Cable and Deadpool, Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 21:45:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17149637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: Hard Times by Charles Dickings(It's a Christmas smut fic).





	Honeysuckle and Mistletoe

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Nate’s the kind of class act who likes flowers. Keeps them on his side tables, fresh ones, not silks. Wade would love to say someone else, maybe Irene, selects them and puts them in the little painted vases in Nate’s apartment, but he knows it’s not. He knows because the flowers change pretty regularly and he’d watched Nate carry on a conversation while arranging daisies or carnations or whatever-the-fuck-not-roses on the tables.

Wade doesn’t know shit about flowers, but he kind of gets it. They’re bright and cheery and even cut for a vase they were proof of a world more viable than the one that shaped Nate. That they’re available to be cut for a vase, to be used purely as decoration, spoke of a world in some kind of health. So yeah, not a big surprise, but then next Nate’s big and manly and scowling, I-am-the-Ultimate-Soldier schtick, it was maybe a little surprising to see him get all soft and smiley over some fucking pansies.

Giving gifts that other people find meaning in is not Wade’s strong suite. He likes giving presents, because he sees things sometimes that just scream someone’s name, and even though nine times out of ten the best he can hope for in the other person’s reaction is confusion, it’s fun. Even if the gift is meaningless to them, it means something to him. It would be nice to see his efforts appreciated more often, but everyone knows he’s a clown. Even when people are offended by whatever he gives them, their reactions are usually so overblown it’s still fun.

With Nate though, and yes, he’s _aware_ that this is a problem, but it’s a fucking fact, so deal with it; with Nate, he doesn’t _want_ an overblown reaction of offense. Mostly he gets a smile and that’s enough, but sometimes Nate raises his eyebrows and looks at Wade like he’s disappointed before setting whatever thing he’d thought would at least get a chuckle, and that’s the absolute worst.

He doesn’t like disappointing Nate. Even doing it knowingly always _sucks_ , so doing it when he meant to make him laugh or feel good is like getting gut shot.

Standing at the stupid little flower shop and looking at the flowers, he’s torn between this and phoning it in with something deliberately funny. At least getting blown off (or that stupid, ‘I expected better from you, Wade’ look that makes him feel like his lungs are collapsing) would be better than _trying_ and ultimately _failing_ to give him something nice.

Maybe he could just forget the whole fucking Christmas thing altogether. Wasn’t like anyone expected anything from him anyway. Not his holiday, not his religion, just an excuse for commercial excess. He’d mailed everyone else’s gifts (thank you, Amazon, I will kill Jeff Bezos next year, it’s my New Years Resolution) but Nate was impossible to buy for. He was exactly the kind of asshole who just got himself the things he wanted when he thought of them, and probably the kind to accept a gift while lecturing about the evils of capitalistic consumerism and Amazon’s evil business practices.

Which, _fair_ but also just shut up and accept the gift, right?

What even are good flowers to buy? How do you hand flowers to a dude in a way that says ‘I know you like these so I bought them for you’ instead of ‘I think it’s hilarious that you have flowers on your end tables and am mocking you by buying these’? Because he was definitely going more for the former, but if he went with instinct then it was definitely going to come across as the latter.

Roses were a cliche. Cliches could be a lot of fun, and he entertains going a wholly different route with this little exercise; scattered rose petals leading through Nate’s apartment and him posed naked on the bed with a single rose between his teeth. Enough staging to be accepted as a joke if Nate turned him down, enough care to actually count as romance if he didn’t.

Except that’s not really in line with the mood he’s in and the idea of Nate seeing him stretched out naked on his bed and taking the whole thing as a joke stings more than he likes, and that being a distinct possibility makes him frown and move on to the next display.

A bunch of mixed arrangements with flowers he didn’t know the names for. Irises, maybe, or lillies. Floraculture had never been his subject. Nate, the bastard, probably knew all the names and the stupid symbolism behind the flowers. These all looked ready to be photographed for a Southern Living spread, complete with fancy vases; it felt hokie and too… orderly, too pre-arranged for what Wade wanted.

He wanted to see Nate put the flowers in his own vase, arrange them himself.

So he wants a bouquet. He wants nice, not-rose-flowers in a bouquet that he can hand to Nate and that Nate won’t look at and immediately think are meant as a taunt or a joke.

**_Good fucking luck, bud, we’re rooting for you._ **

_I’m not_.

He sighs and meanders over to the coolers that are full of prearranged bouquets and those weird things fancy guys pin on their suit jacket pockets. There’s flowers on bracelets and flowers on hair pins, too. People do all sorts of shit with flowers, who knew?

Nothing looks exactly right and he huffs, more irritated than anyone has a right to be in a fucking flower shop; he puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head. Okay so he knows next door to nothing about flowers and it’s the Eve of Christmas Eve, meaning he’s fucked if he doesn’t get Nate something today. Nothing’s going to be open tomorrow, _definitely_ not on Christmas Day (god forbid, right?) so this was _it_.

There’s a bouquet in the bottom corner of the case that catches his eye, mostly because of the way it sort of gets crowded out by this massive, ridiculous ‘I really fucked up, please don’t be mad’ bundle of roses. He has no idea what any of the flowers are, but when he squats down half in and half out of the cold case, carefully extracting the arrangement, he thinks maybe this is the right way to go. It doesn’t look Christmassy, which is a fucking plus in Wade’s opinion, and it doesn’t look super over complicated. There’s something in it that looks like roses, but they’re a sort of peachy soft colour, not ostentatious at all. None of the stereotypical fuck-me red in _this_ bundle, no no.

He smiles under the mask and carries it over to the counter, where a tired looking girl with a shaved head and bandaged fingers is pushing flowers into a block of that weird green foam stuff florists use.

**_Floral foam, it feels really nice when you crush it._ **

“Do you want a card with this? Oh, I should redo the honeysuckle, it’s drying out, hold on.”

Wade starts to say it doesn’t matter, then decides that, actually, probably it does. He watches the girl pick the weird vines of little stringy flowers out and doesn’t realize he’s repeating the word ‘honeysuckle’ until the girl looks at him like she’s trying to decide whether to smile or just carry on ignoring him.

Maybe being in full Deadpool get up for this particular mission hadn’t strictly been necessary.

_What was your first clue?_

“So you’ll want to make sure these get into water pretty quick, because the honeysuckle and the protea will wilt and the greens will go all dry and flaky, okay?” She says, and he decides he likes her even if she _does_ sound like a Better Homes and Gardens article. “The peonies just opened, they’re still kind of tight, but warm water will make them open the rest of the way. We’re out of flower food, but if you stir sugar water into the vase, it’ll do the same thing.”

He salutes her and almost manages to throw his wallet over his shoulder in the same movement, which makes her laugh, so that’s okay.

“This is a really nice bouquet,” she opines, while he’s leafing through the bills in his wallet and she’s wrapping the cut stems in paper. “I’m glad you picked it, it’s not exactly what’s in season, but it’d be a shame to have to just throw it out.”

He pays and she gives him the bouquet and he leaves feeling a little better about the prospect of handing a fistful of flowers over to Mutant Jesus.

That lasts right up about until he’s standing at Nate’s door, thinking over all the life choices that lead to him being dogshit-dumb enough to think this was a gift anyone would want from him, debating whether it would be better to just sneak in and leave the flowers somewhere for Nate to find like a sort of half-assed surprise rather than go through the mortification of actually trying to hand the over without making an ass of himself and oh god why is he knocking he’s not ready to be knocking he’s still in the middle of the existential crisis part of this cutesy fic thank you very much.

But he knocks, a neat little Shave and a Haircut knock, and it’s only December 23rd so it’s not a proper Christmas gift anyway, but then again Nate’s not exactly a stickler for that kind of thing, Wade’s _definitely_ not a stickler for it, and

 _He’s standing right there_.

**_Act cool, we got this._ **

“Sure do,” he says and holds up the flowers like he and Nate haven’t been staring at each other for a solid minute without speaking. “Merry Christmas, honey bunches, I brought you honeysuckle.”

_Goddamnit._

Nate though, Nate just looks at the flowers, as if maybe he’s used to hearing dumb shit dribble out of Wade’s mouth, and then he smiles.

Nate has a lot of smiles. He has the stately diplomat smile, the long suffering pained smile, the tired but still trying for optimism smile. The smile he gives now is not dismissive or exhausted or anything, really, but happy. Happy and, as he looks from the flowers to Wade, _fond_. He looks like Wade just handed him the solution to world hunger or something equally important and valuable.

“Thank you, Wade,” he says, accepting the offered flowers in both hands, so deeply delighted, and Wade wonders what the opposite of disappointed is, because he’s definitely struck something with this. “Would you like to come in so I can give you your gift?”

“Is it hidden in your bedroom and does it involve that mint chocolate lube I read about in Cosmo?”

Another breed of smile morphs from the gentle joy that had been plastered there, becoming something wicked, something hungry. It’s a smile Wade definitely likes, even when (especially when) he’d expected vague annoyance toward his innuendo at best.

“Should it, Wade?” Nate asks, placing his hand between Wade’s shoulders as if to usher him into the apartment, but mostly just to touch. “Is that what you deserve?”

Not exactly the kind of question that should get his motor running, but fuck it. He did good with the flowers and at this point he’s coasting. It feels absurdly nice to get this kind of response from Nate that Wade almost doesn’t know what to do with himself, which is objectively pitiful, and he so doesn’t even care.

Trailing along after Nate as he trims the stems and puts the flowers in the order he wants them. Wade rambles on about various things, barely paying attention to his own words, but Nate hums thoughtfully when Wade suggests he put sugar in the water for the flowers, grabbing the sugar and dumping in a heaping teaspoon before adding the flowers. Frankly, Wade has no idea why flowers would want sugar, but he feels some kind of tight, hot elation at having said something helpful.

He kind of expects Nate to keep fussing with the flowers, because Nate likes to draw things out and loves to tease, especially Wade, and nothing makes Wade suffer like being less than the center of attention. Nate knows it, Wade knows it, it’s really the easiest kind of game for them to play, so Wade’s a little surprised when Nate only fiddles for a minute or so before straightening up, drawing to his full height, all six foot eight of him turning his attention on Wade.

It’s the kind of potent attention that makes Little Wade very, very happy.

“This was a very thoughtful gift, Wade,” Nate said, his voice low and sweet, kind the way it was when he was spectacularly pleased with something Wade had done. Wade had killed to hear that tone, damn near died -- actually died a few times. It was a tone that said both ‘you’re good’ and ‘I’m going to fuck you so hard you forget your name’. “I’m disappointed though.”

He didn’t _sound_ disappointed, which dulled the knife those particular words always turned into. Wade still felt an awkward pang of apprehension, the mental equivalent of saying ‘oh shit’ watching Nate move around the kitchen island -- of course Nate’s got an apartment with a nice kitchen -- to stand in front of him. There’s a certain way Nate walks when he’s about to attack and a certain way he walks when he’s trying to decide which nearby surface to fuck Wade against, and those walks are disturbingly similar. The smile under Wade’s mask is genuine, but his brain is buzzing with fight or flight energy. It wouldn’t be the first time Wade mistook an actual threat for a come-on from Nate.

“I always liked the tradition of unwrapping gifts,” Nate rumbles, and Wade starts to relax a little, settling into the certainty of which route Nate was steering toward. That’s a bedroom voice if Wade ever heard one. “I would have thought you were the type to make a gift a little… harder to get to.”

“What, like set it in a block of gelatin and freeze it?”

He’d done that for Al’s gift last year, and the gift card inside the frozen strawberry Jello had also been wrapped in duct tape. To protect it, but also because he was an asshole and it was fun to see how far he could push the people who tolerated him before they stopped. It was a satisfying way of ensuring that no one stuck with him for the long haul.

“Something like that,” Nate said, and settled his hand on Wade’s shoulder, thumb teasing the hollow of his throat, just under his Adam’s apple, right at the seam where the costume met the mask. “Of course, you couldn’t do that with flowers.”

Wade knows exactly where this is going, and he’s perfectly game. He leans a little into Nate touch, and tilts his head gamely back when Nate grips the bottom of the mask. “I always told you I was a fuckin’ gift, Nate, so stop talking and start unwrapping.”

Nate’s laugh is something like a growl, low and rumbling, but he does exactly what Wade hopes, yanking the mask away and tossing it on the counter, kissing him before he can say another word. It’s a rough kiss, a lot of biting, and okay, fair, maybe they’ve been on a bit of a break lately, maybe this is a long time coming

**_Hopefully not that much longer in cumming though…_ **

_Heh. Nice._

but there’s a certain gratification to the sort of desperation in Nate’s grip, the way he tugs and pushes and shoves Wade through the house, manhandling him against walls and bookshelves and pressing him flat against the back of the couch, curling over him to kiss him like he’s gonna die if he doesn’t. They end up in the bedroom, because Nate has old man hangups and old man pains and likes to fuck on a bed when he’s got the option.

And wow, but Nate does know how to make it feel special. Wade starts trying to pluck at his own zipper and Nate knocks his hand away, running those big hands over his body and maneuvering him out of his suit exactly like he’s unwrapping a very special gift. He brushes his fingers over Wade’s nasty skin like he’s missed it, until Wade feels like he’s going to have a goddamn heart attack.

“Are we gonna fuck or are you angling for an evening of heavy petting because honestly, mixed messages here, Nate.”

“Hush, Wade,” Nate says, lips against Wade’s neck, sucking marks that darken and heal in a matter of minutes into the flesh. “I get to unwrap my present at my own speed.”

Huffing and flopping back on the mattress, Wade made it clear exactly how he felt about Nate’s chosen speed. Fast and hard was the fun way; nothing said ‘I missed sex with you’ like complete loss of control. But that was Nate all over, always in control, always measured, always taking his goddamn time if he didn’t think there was a real reason for urgency. Wade can count the times he’s gotten fucked fast and hard by this man on two hands, and at least one hand of those they’d both been pretty damn sure one of them was dying.

“Old man speed, yeehaw.”

“Am I boring you, Wade?” Nate asked, leaning back to mock-pout even as his left hand slid up Wade’s thigh (still covered by his fucking pants because evidently Christmas dickings happened at only the most glacial of paces) to knead at his dick. “You seem interested to me, but maybe I’m mistaken.”

“I went to a flower shop for you,” Wade reminds, petulant as he rocks his hips into that hand. “Shoulda got you a bouquet of dicks.”

The hum of amusement was worth the slow pace though; it’s indulgent and fond and eager for more as he might be, Wade can’t help loving the way Nate seems to want to take the time to appreciate him.

“I think I prefer the honeysuckle and peony,” Nate muses, as if this is an actual conversation of importance.

“You could call me Honey and give me something to suck,” Wade says, and then moans at the firm roll of Nate’s palm to his dick. “I’m saying I wanna blow you, Nate, c’mon, sometime this century.”

Nate is built roughly like a semi-truck. Huge and powerful and made to go the distance. He looks like he should be rough, all force and no nuance, but that’s where the magic is with him because he’s capable of this incredible delicateness. It’s enormously hot, and magnificently frustrating when you’re just trying to get dicked down good.

But that’s kind of part of the fun, getting all wound up like this, giving up control piecemeal until Nate’s got it all, his strength all there is in the world for Wade, so he’s laying there still and compliant, running his mouth in an endless babble no one would even bother trying to follow while the rest of his clothes are carefully stripped away, Nate kissing and biting and touching wherever he wants and Wade having no real choice but to take it or cry uncle and leave.

And he’s no quitter, baby, he’s ready to go the distance even if it means going all night and coming with the rising sun. They’ve played that game a few times; awful and wonderful and torturous slow, the kind of memory that makes Wade shudder, except fond, hopeful in a weird way.

“Strawberry?” Wade complains when Nate pops open the lube, and maybe that’s a little ungrateful for a guy with his knees pushed up around his ears (he _did_ love getting to prove how bendy he was though) and three nice, thick fingers exploring his insides, but _come on_. “Nate, where’s your holiday spirit?”

“It’s two days before Christmas, Wade,” Nate says, frustratingly patient as he tries to remember exactly the right angle to make Wade short circuit. “Maybe when we get around to opening your present we’ll find something more festive.”

“I thought my present was your dick which could be in me at any fucking moment please.”

Laughing, Nate does, finally, with no more fucking around, get to the goods, and it’s all so, so worth it. Months of barely seeing each other, stressing out about the gift, all Nate’s weird foreplay bullshit niceties, they whole fucking thing that lead up to this, the relentless burn and push, in and in like Nate’s dick is never-ending until Wade’s pretty sure he can taste it in his throat and Nate’s hips are circling against his ass -- all of it, it’s perfect.

He doesn’t know how much of that he says out loud, but surely some of it makes it from brain to mouth because Nate touches his face in that sweet, gentle way he does sometimes while pounding the ever-loving shit out of his ass, looking at him like he’s the best possible person to have under him, and Wade feels like his heart is seizing or maybe beating super fast, one or the other.

Nate has this way of looking at him like he’s not obnoxious and not totally fucked-up looking, and sometimes that look hurts, because it’s like Nate’s seeing who Wade could be and ignoring who Wade is, and Wade needs, needs to be seen, recognized. Understanding is overrated, but someone just looking at him and accepting what he is with the same boredom they accept everyone else, that’s fucking magic.

Like this, Nate’s definitely not thinking of any other version of Wade but the one pinned by his cock to the mattress. He never says anything dumb, like that Wade’s beautiful; Nate barely talks when they fuck, but his eyes go all soft and dreamy like he’s so happy to be like this he’s going stupid for it.

Wade comes twice, the first time just because Nate’s hitting all his buttons with the eye contact and the dumb smile and the furious, unforgiving pace, the second time because Nate drags it out of him, touching and petting and finally curling hand around his cock and stroking in rough time with the punch against his prostate, and how can he resist.

“God, you’ve got good stamina for an old dude,” Wade pants, sprawled limp across the mattress as Nate hitches in hard against him. He’s so big, he blocks out the rest of the room, so all Wade can really see is Nate, and he doesn’t mind at all. “Is this all I gotta do to get an all-night ride, bring you some flowers?”

Nate’s eyes roll but he’s laughing as he comes, filling Wade up in a way he hadn’t realized he’d missed, and then crushing Wade in a kiss, no longer supporting himself on his arms. He just sags across Wade’s body and lays one on him, and Wade grins, returning the lazy slow kisses with a little extra spice.

They’re both sticky with come and sweat and Wade’s already thinking about testing the structural integrity of Nate’s shower stall, when Nate rolls off him and gets off the bed with a soft groan. As much as Wade likes to joke, Nate really is getting on up there in years, and he doesn’t have a fun healing factor to keep him spry.

Watching Nate dig through his dresser, Wade’s a little surprised when Nate pulls out a small wrapped box.

“I was going to wait until the 25th, but I feel like you might want this now.”

Holding the box and turning it over in his hands, Wade tries to think of something smartassed to say, and comes up empty. He peels the paper away and opens the nondescript white box, tipping the contents into his hand. He stares, just for a moment at it, and then turns his eyes on Nate, grinning.

“If you already have one, I have the gift receipt, but I thought it seemed about your speed.”

The belt buckle is almost tasteful, not oversized, engraved with a sprig of mistletoe and the words ‘Kiss Me’. It would be exactly his speed if he had any class -- he was more the kind to shove some real mistletoe in his open fly, which Nate probably knows well enough. It’s a joke, but understated, and he loves it.

He tackles Nate back against the bed, almost spilling them both off the edge of the bed and onto the floor. Nate looks halfway to annoyed before Wade kisses him.

“Nice try, but I don’t plan on putting pants on again until New Years, and I’m angling to keep you similarly dressed. Undressed. Whatever.”

Looking up at him from where Wade has him pinned, Nate smiles that slow, knowing smile, all smug and amused the way he only seems to get with Wade. “But Wade,” he says, “I was looking forward to unwrapping another gift Christmas morning.”

"I will wear pants on the condition that you provide a more festive lube," Wade acquiesces, magnanimous as he straddles Nate's stomach and curls over him like he has any real hope of keeping Nate pinned if Nate doesn't want to be. "Strawberry sets the completely wrong tone."

"Like a bouquet of honeysuckle in December?" Nate asks sweetly, and all Wade can do is laugh. Like he's supposed to know anything about what season flowers belong in.


End file.
